


Examine Other Beauties

by kiwoa (Rinoa)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-03 10:17:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1069310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinoa/pseuds/kiwoa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I," Jonny says, and he slips his headset up from around his neck to nestle over his ears, "am not an actor."</p><p>"Good thing I don't need you to act."</p><p>"No."</p><p>"Jonny."</p><p>"Patrick."</p><p>"Please?" Kaner cants forward and tilts his face up to blink at Jonny. In the fluttering light that filters in from the stage, his eyes look unnaturally pale. "Just read the lines, okay? I want to see how well I've memorized them."</p><p>Jonny scrubs a hand over his face. The motion knocks his mike askew. "One scene."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Examine Other Beauties

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks to the ever wonderful [Jennie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jengeorge) for beta-ing this!

The first time Sharpy brings it up, Jonny barely even notices. Acting camp, he says, and Abby's going - that means he HAS to go. Honestly, Jonny rolls his eyes and keeps walking towards Econ - Sharpy always has some new idea for getting Abby to see him as more than a friend. This is nothing new.

The second time is a little concerning. It's a few days later, on Saturday, and Sharpy starts ranting about the necessity of going to theater camp during a break in their scrimmage.

"Oh yeah," Duncs says, and he flips his plastic street hockey stick to lean on it like a staff. "You're talking about the thing at Bowman, right?"

"Bowman Community Theater Camp," Sharpy says, nodding. "You know it?"

"I work tech there."

And Jonny doesn't mean to say anything, but he can't hold back his skepticism. "Really?"

"Past four years, yeah," Duncs says. "Seabsie too."

Sharpy socks Jonny in the arm. "See? Duncs and Seabs are in. You should be too."

Jonny's stuck on the whole four years part.

"Rebecca," Duncs says in response to his blank stare. "She wanted to be in the play, and Mom didn't want her to go alone."

"Seabs?" Jonny says weakly.

Seabs shrugs. "Bros don't make bros do summer camp alone."

"Hear that, bro?" Sharpy cackles, and Jonny slapshots the tennis ball they'd been passing into the side of Sharpy's car before he rollerblades away.

The third time, Sharpy corners him during lunch and Jonny flat out tells him no. Sharpy then says that Burish is gonna sign up, and Jonny amends his answer to _fuck_ no.

The fourth time, Sharpy escalates his attack.

"That's right, ma'am," Jonny hears as he walks in the front door.

"Jonathan?" his mom calls. "Jonathan, is that you?"

He sets down his gearbag slowly. "Oui, maman."

"Your friend Patrick is here, mon chou," she says, and Jonny grits his teeth.

"I was just telling Andree about the camp all of us are going to do." When Jonny rounds the corner, Sharpy is sitting on the sofa, hair neatly parted and smile gleaming white. "That theater program Duncan and Brent like - something we can focus on and work on together... besides just hockey."

"It sounds like a wonderful idea," his mom says.

"Plus comme un cauchemar," Jonny snaps. _More like a nightmare._

"Jonathan," she says firmly, and at the same moment, Sharpy says, "I'll let you talk this over. See you in Bio on Monday, Jonny!"

Jonny scowls, grunts, "Optional practice tomorrow - don't skip it," and doesn't realize until Sharpy's fighting a smirk and his mom's narrowing her eyes that he just got outplayed.

He forwards the camp sign-up confirmation e-mail to Sharpy as soon as it arrives and then shuts his computer and phone down for the rest of the night.

At practice the next morning, he slaps the stick tape out of Sharpy's hands mid-wrap and says, "Don't bother. I asked Coach to focus on endurance today."

Sharpy's eyes go wide. "What are you saying?"

"Bag skate. Now."

\--------

Jonny's hiding in the theater's workroom, halfway through diagramming a 5-on-3 tactic that came to him in his dreams last night, when a hand slams down on his notebook.

"Hey," Seabs says, "am I interrupting?" Jonny stays silent and Seabs continues, "I know you're not working on hockey stuff, because that's the whole point of you doing this thing."

"I thought the point was to provide moral support for Sharpy."

"Yeah, well," Seabs says, then he grins. "Speaking of, wanna come watch auditions?"

Jonny closes his notebook with a sigh. "I'll pass."

"You sure? Duncs might be doing the same monologue Sharpy prepared."

"What the hell? He's not even in the acting program."

"He might have claimed the slot right before Sharpy's too. And I might have claimed the spot before Duncs."

"Same monologue?"

Seabs smiles wide, and Jonny smiles back. "Yeah," Jonny says. "I'll come watch."

When Jonny slips into the folding chair next to Sharpy, Sharpy doesn't look up from his phone. Seabs introduces himself, and Sharpy's head snaps up. "O, reason not the need!" Seabs says, and that's all it takes. Five words into Seabs's monologue, Sharpy goes pale. Five words into Duncs's, he goes as red as Jonny's Team Canada jersey and starts sputtering like a kettle.

Five words into Sharpy's monologue, Jonny can't breathe through his laughter.

"I'm going to murder all of you," Sharpy hisses as he sits back down, the hair over his forehead limp with sweat, and Jonny would mock him more, but the next guy's already up on stage.

"Um," the kid says, "I'm also Patrick, and I'm also doing King Lear. Not the... not the same, though. Was I supposed to do that one?"

The director, Savard, says, "I never want to hear 'that one' again, please," and Brent sings, "O fool, I shall go mad!" under his breath.

The kid nods, his hair a frizzy halo around his head, bleeding into the goldenrod curtain behind him. "Okay. So, yeah, I'm Patrick, and I'll. I'm gonna start now."

He clears his throat.

"Thou, Nature, art my goddess," Patrick says, and five words into his monologue, Jonny is intrigued.

The guy's not a great actor. He's not obviously nervous, but there are subtle signs - he's swaying just a little, his gaze is fixed high and forward, and his fingers keep alternately flexing and curling tight into his palms, each hand out of sync with the other. There's a raw spot on the left side of his lower lip, like he's recently taken a hit there. Or like he's been worrying it - Jonny has to remind himself that it's not normal to get hit in the face on a regular basis; that's hockey territory. The kid has a nice voice, though his inflection doesn't sound quite right, and his clothes look expensive and way too trendy.

He's... for lack of a better word, he's _charming_.

When Patrick finishes his monologue, he grins and takes an exaggerated bow, and yeah. Charming sounds about right.

"He's gonna be Romeo, isn't he?" Sharpy whimpers. "That blond bastard is gonna steal my Abby."

Jonny watches Patrick hop down the stairs and high-five a pretty girl before throwing an arm over her shoulders. "You think so?"

"He has amazing hair," Sharpy sighs, "and he's handsome. Damnit, I'm supposed to be the handsome one. Who the fuck does he think he is?"

"Patrick?"

Sharpy frowns at him. "What?"

"No, I mean he's..." Jonny shakes his head. "Nevermind."

"I just have to hope he blows his monologue, I guess."

Jonny knew Sharpy'd been zoning out, texting Abby and staring in her direction in equal amounts, but he didn't realize it'd gotten _this_ bad. "Sharpy," Jonny says slowly, "he just did his monologue."

"What? No, Kruger hasn't gone yet, dude. He's up after Bicks."

"Um. Kruger?"

"Marcus Kruger," Sharpy says, and it's his turn to talk slow, like Jonny's taken too many blows to the head. "The Swedish asshole who's going to steal my girl." He points in Kruger's direction, and when Jonny looks over curiously, Sharpy leans close and asks, "You alright there, Toes?"

"Yeah, I..." Jonny shakes his head. "Yeah, you're right - Kruger's gonna kick your ass." And then it's easy enough to get lost in Sharpy's whining, and grin at Duncs when Seabs wrestles Sharpy into a headlock and musses his artfully messy hair into something that's just a mess, and not think about the other Patrick at all.

\--------

Burish ruins everything.

"Heyo, JT," Bur shouts, and he hops up to sit on the riser box that Jonny's only halfway through stapling together - he's honestly lucky the whole thing doesn't collapse in a shower of splinters. As it is, the assemblage leans ominously, and Jonny shoves at Bur's feet. "You meet my boy Kaner yet?" he continues.

"Fuck your boy, Bur, get off!" Jonny punches him in the knee - not the one Bur sprained last season, because there's never a reason to put the team in jeopardy - and Bur slumps down to his feet and punches him right back.

"Don't be mean to him, Jonny."

"I'm not being mean to _him_ , I'm being mean to _your_ fat ass!"

"I thought you said he was serious," someone says, and Jonny knows that voice. "Doesn't sound serious," Patrick says, "he just sounds smart."

"Kaner," Bur gasps, "I thought you'd have my back! What happened to our bond as countrymen?"

"You're American?" Jonny blurts, and Patrick smiles at him.

"Yeah. Just moved here." He jams his hands in the pockets of his too-perfectly-worn-to-be- _actually_ -worn jeans and his smile deepens enough to dimple. "Patrick Kane."

Jonny nods. "Jonathan Toews."

"Jonathan," Bur laughs. " _Jonathan_."

"Shut up, asshole. Some of us were raised correctly."

"That include calling people assholes?" Patrick says, and Burish throws his head back and laughs.

"See? My boy!" Then he's dragging Patrick off in a headlock, and Jonny's confused about what just happened until he asks Sharpy later. Sharpy shrugs and says, "Oh yeah, Kaner. He and Bur got paired up for improv exercises this morning."

"And now they're, what? Boyfriends?" Jonny spits, and Sharpy squints at him.

"Not cool, Toes," Sharpy says.

"I know," Jonny says, and he does know - it's not Sharpy's fault he was open enough to give dating Bur a chance last year and Jonny still can't even force "I think I'm gay" past his lips in the privacy of his own room. "Sorry."

"What if they are, man? Is that gonna be a problem?"

"No, of course not. Just..." Jonny scowls and hopes it looks more exasperated than scared. "Bur almost broke the shit I was working on today. I don't know why you like that fucker."

"Aww, is Jonny sad he can't take out his aggressions by outplaying Bur on the ice? Would some street hockey this weekend make him feel better?"

And Sharpy might be a dick (and his friends might all be dicks too), but Jonny's never going to turn down hockey.

\--------

When Bur gets out of his car, rollerblades in hand, and no one climbs out the passenger side, Jonny isn't disappointed.

He's not.

\--------

"Benvolio," Patrick says. Jonny can barely hear him over the roar of Sharpy and Bur's celebration.

"Not Romeo?"

"Uh," Patrick says, "no? I wasn't... are you making fun of me right now?"

Jonny sinks his mouth in, drops his shoulders, consciously decides not to tuck his hands into his hoodie pocket. "I liked your monologue."

Patrick laughs, and Jonny hates what it might mean, but he can't bring himself to hate the sound. "Oh man," Patrick says, "really? Erica told me I totally blew it up there!"

Jonny frowns. "You did better than Sharpy."

"Thanks," Patrick says, knocking his fist against Jonny's biceps. "You're a decent dude, Jonathan."

"Jonny."

"Jonny," Patrick repeats with a smile.

Jonny definitely does not think about Patrick's lips rolling around the o, his smile stretching wide on the y, wider still after for no real reason at all. He definitely _definitely_ does not think about it while he jerks off that night.

He's doing a lot of not-doing-things these days.

\--------

The first day of actual rehearsals, Bur appears and swings himself up to sit on what Jonny's working on once again. Jonny sets his brush to the side and doesn't say a word.

"I'm bored," Bur says.

"Shouldn't you be acting or something?" Seabs calls from the far end of the room, where he and Duncs are painting a backdrop, and Burish sighs and flops back on Jonny's riser, arms stretched wide.

"Savy thinks we should start at the end. Understand what our actions are leading to, to give 'proper foreshadowing' or whatever."

Jonny rolls his eyes. "So?"

" _So_ , I'm Mercutio." When Jonny doesn't respond, Bur kicks him in the shoulder. "Mercutio's dead at the end. Read a fucking book, jeez."

"I read books," Jonny says, and Duncs talks over him to ask, "Did Olczyk say you could be back here?"

"Course he did," Bur sneers. "Me and Edzo are tight. Us Americans gotta stick together."

"Did he say you could help us out," Jonny says, "or did he say you could screw everything up by sitting in wet paint?"

Bur stares at him.

"Because that's what you're doing. Sitting in wet paint."

Bur's palm is a grassy green when he picks it up off the riser.

"Nice color," Duncs says. "It suits you."

The double doors creak open again and Patrick sticks his head in. "Bur? This the place?"

"This is Asshole Cove, alright," Burish shouts, storming off into the wardrobe storeroom.

"Hoss and Jana will kill him if he gets paint on any of the costumes," Duncs says, level and content.

Jonny smirks. "We can only hope."

"What's going on? What am I missing?" Patrick edges a little further into the room, and Jonny holds up his brush, bristles coated in yellow-green and handle tacky with half-dried paint.

"Painting. Wanna help?"

"Help _us_ , Kaner," Seabs shouts. "Backdrops take way more work than risers."

"That's supposed to convince me?" Kaner laughs. "Fuck that, I'm taking the risers."

Jonny nods approvingly and points towards the clean brushes.

Patrick doesn't walk lightly; Jonny's aware of his quick steps crossing to the sink, passing behind him towards the paint cans, and Jonny tries to focus on painting. He sees a spot that looks matte, and he swipes his brush over it, watches the wet surface gleam.

"Hey," Patrick says, dropping a shoebox-sized riser next to Jonny's three-foot cube and kneeling, "so Bur said I should ask how you two met."

Jonny sputters.

"Or not? Dude, don't die. I don't want that on my conscience."

"Oh my god," Jonny coughs, "Bur is such an asshole." His cheeks feel hot, and Kaner's eyes are getting wider and wider the longer Jonny holds his breath, so he caves and blurts, "Fucker was making out with Sharpy _on my bed_."

"No way," Kaner intones, low and slow.

"Yeah, he... I was throwing a party, and Sharpy said he was bringing this new kid from his Lit class, but that's-"

"That's not the same thing," Kaner says. "Bringing a date and... and _defiling_ your... oh man. Not the same thing."

"Yeah, and they weren't even dating."

"Shut the fuck up."

"No, they just." Jonny drops his voice even deeper, going for the faux-smooth persona Sharpy likes to project, and says, "'That's what happens at parties, Tazer. You don't plan that stuff. It just happens.'"

Patrick snorts. "What a dick."

"Both of them," Jonny agrees, and he winces as the bristles on his brush scrape dry against the wood and dips into the paint anew. Patrick's nails clack against the lid of his paint can. Wordlessly, Jonny hands him the butter knife they use as a pry bar. Patrick's hands are quick on the handle, one finger extended along the blade as he levers the lid up, and Jonny swallows before he says, "You could do worse, though." Patrick looks up. "Than Sharpy and Bur," Jonny adds. "For friends and all."

Kaner smirks. "Who says I need to make friends?"

And Jonny has to look down, has to make sure his brush is hitting the riser, not just arcing through open air. "I just figured. I mean, I've never seen you before, and none of the guys have either."

"I'm just giving you shit," Kaner says, knocking his knuckles against Jonny's knee. "You're right - I could use some friends."

Jonny forces himself to shrug one shoulder and not meet Kaner's eyes. "Yeah, I know. I'm always right."

Patrick laughs, and Jonny laughs too, and when they pivot to work on their pieces, Jonny breathes like he's coming off the ice. He waits for the hum of Duncs and Seabs's distant conversation to ramp up again, the harsh grunt of Burish's voice mixing in with theirs, then asks, "So where are you from?"

"Buffalo," Kaner says. "New York. We just moved here a couple weeks ago."

Jonny nods absently and turns back towards his riser. "Is theater a thing with you?"

"Nah," Kaner laughs. "It's my sister. She's... okay, you know the big dealership on Blair?"

"By the mall?"

"That's the one. My dad's been friends with the guy who owns it since forever."

Jonny lowers his paintbrush. "How is this related to theater?"

"I'm getting there!"

"So get there."

"Jesus, hold your horses, Mr. Serious." Kaner leans over far enough to bump Jonny, a quick shoulder-check that almost knocks him off his balance entirely. "His wife was talking about all the neat things we could do here to get settled, and one of her son's favorite things is theater."

"He does this camp."

"Bingo. He made it sound cool, and my little sister Jackie wanted in. End of story."

"Not a great story."

"You're the one who wanted to hear it."

"That's fair," Jonny concedes, and then Duncs is yelling about getting the stereo system figured out and Jonny nods in his direction. "That's why Duncs started here too - his little sister."

"Yeah?" Kaner says. "What about you?"

Jonny smirks. "My little sister is Patrick Sharp."

For one bright moment, Kaner's laughing hysterically, rough and careless, then suddenly there's a Seether song (one that's shaken Jonny down to his bones during car rides with Duncs more times than he can count) roaring through the room, sopping up all other noise.

Kaner shouts, "We need to get some Yeezy in here."

Jonny hates all of them.

\--------

Kaner comes back to help out the next day, and the next, and it becomes a part of Jonny's routine to pop open two paints cans instead of one, to lay down enough newspaper for two people to work, to plug in his iPhone and have music playing and his hands dirty before Kaner shows up so that he can't argue that they should give his music a listen instead. It's not ideal - Jonny'd rather talk about things that actually mean something, instead of shouting stories back and forth with Duncs or Seabs or listening to Kaner mutter his lines under his breath on repeat - but it works.

It's not until Friday that everything falls apart.

"Post-apocalyptic," Jonny says slowly.

"Pre-apocalyptic," Edzo corrects, and he shakes his head like he's trying not to laugh.

"Pre-apo... why?"

"'To reflect the severity and power of the tensions at play,'" Edzo recites, and when Jonny just stares, he adds, "Hey, it's not my vision. Savy wants what he wants."

"French Canadians are crazy," Kaner groans.

"Preaching to the choir." Edzo drops a box that clanks ominously, plastic and metal all at once, and gives them a sympathetic smile before he leaves the room.

Duncs peels back the cardboard flaps and whistles, and Jonny has to do a double take before he can make sense of it. There are shards of plexiglas, half-smashed hard drives, and more America Online discs than he knew were left in existence piled up inside, a harsh mess of gleaming edges and surfaces worn rough, and Jonny blurts, "What the fuck are we supposed to do with this?"

"Glue it on?" Seabs picks up a CD and flips it between his fingers. "Hell if I know. Hey Duncs, go long!"

Jonny watches Seabs toss the disc like a frisbee and Duncs go crashing after it. "There's no way bright green fits this new theme. We have to repaint the risers."

Kaner nods. "Yep."

"We just _finished_ painting the risers."

"Yep."

Seabs leaps to catch the frisbee, knocking hard into a work table and cackling as a box of staples tips over and spills across the ground. "Hey Jonny," he shouts, "maybe we could just stick a bunch of staples to everything and call it a day, eh?"

"I think I hate Savy," Jonny whispers.

"Like I said," Kaner whispers back, "French Canadians are crazy."

Jonny locks eyes with Kaner and says coldly, "My mom is French Canadian."

"Oh. Oh, shit." Kaner uncrosses his arms, hands flailing wildly in front of him, like his words are written in chalk and he might be able to wipe them away. "I didn't know, man, sorry. No offense to your mom or anything. I'm sure not all French Canadians are crazy. And, like, I don't even know her. Not that I want to know your mom! Oh fuck, can we just start over?"

A stronger person might've been able to keep a straight face. As it is, Jonny's biting his lip and gripping his sides by the time Kaner runs out of breath, and when Kaner flashes him a desperate look, all hangdog eyes and his mouth flapping like a fish's, Jonny snorts and bursts into laughter.

"You _fucker_ ," Kaner hisses, elbowing him hard in the ribs, and Jonny just laughs harder. "See if I'm ever nice to you again."

Jonny's still laughing as he cracks open two cans of black paint.

\--------

Jonny swears it's an accident. He really doesn't mean to slash Kaner across the chest with his paintbrush. And anyway, Kaner's wearing a black tee; the black paint's barely visible.

He's not pissed off when finds Kaner's revenge at home that night - a black handprint on the butt of his jeans. He's mostly just sad that he didn't notice when it happened.

\--------

Back before theater camp, before the end of Jonny's sophomore year, seven weeks had seemed like a really long time.

"Six weeks," his mom had said, "9-6, only on weekdays, plus one week of performances. That leaves plenty of time for hockey."

The time he's awake every day doesn't feel like enough time for hockey, but Jonny didn't say that. Instead, he said, "Can you get Dad to help me practice one-timers on Saturdays?"

"I'll try," she said.

Now, after the second week of theater camp, Sharpy says, "I'll try," and Jonny frowns.

"We play street hockey every weekend."

"Yeah, but I got lines to memorize now." Sharpy taps at his forehead. "Can't look like an idiot in front of my lady."

"Can't let her see the truth, you mean," Jonny grumps, but he gets it. He got a spare key to the theater from Foley, the lighting/sound director. Twice this week he's come back after dinner to do touch ups. The harsh incandescents of the workroom show flaws that aren't as visible in the wash of daylight (or aren't as visible when his eyes spend half their time skimming over the lines of Kaner's profile). His favorite sweater is soaking in hairspray right now, waiting for him to scrape dried paint out of the wool. Theater camp isn't something he would've ever elected to do on his own, but he's in it. He's doing it. And he's going to do it right.

"Fine," Jonny sighs, "but we're playing next weekend - no excuses."

"Aye aye, Cap."

"Don't."

"My once and future king."

"Get the fuck out of here, Sharpy."

 _Sharps a no go_ , he texts Seabs, and before he can make it back up the stairs and into his room, Seabs writes back, _bicks n crow 2 fkn sux_

And that's it - Jonny jabs at his phone viciously, and as soon as the ringing stops, he shouts, "What do you mean 'Bicks and Crow too'?!"

"Hello, Jonathan," Seabs says.

"What's their excuse?"

"Play stuff? They said there's a Montague party at Bur's place, so I don't know if they're practicing or playing Xbox." Seabs pauses, then adds, "Or drinking."

"Jesus," Jonny says, "this play's going to kill me."

"Yeah, Shakespearean death. Who knew?"

"Nobody's going to die," Duncs's voice crackles over the line, and Seabs says, "Still wanna hang? Practice some empty-netters?"

Jonny sighs. "Bring your blades; I'll set up a net."

It's not the same. Seabs and Duncs even humor him and run some 1-on-2's, just to let him break a sweat and feel something akin to the pressure of actual competition, but no matter how hard he pushes, how tight he squints, there are still only two other guys, and that's not nearly enough to replace the slicing cold of a real rink or the rhythm of a real game. He dekes around Duncs and hammers a clear shot on net.

The puck soars high. It doesn't even ping off the crossbar, just sails up and over by a solid inch or two, and Jonny crashes his stick against the ground.

"Hey," Seabs says, his hand hovering in Jonny's peripheral vision, just over his shoulder, but not making contact, "let's call it a day, eh?"

"We've still got light."

"It's summer, Jonny; light doesn't mean much."

Jonny glances at his watch. 8:24pm.

"Fine. You guys can bail if you want. I won't hold it against you."

"Not what he said," Duncs says. "We'll stick by you, but give the hockey a rest. Let's go play some Xbox or something."

Seabs is already clicking away on his phone - it's a well known fact that Sharpy has the best entertainment system in the group, and none of them are ashamed to take advantage of it. Seabs is frowning, though, and he sighs heavily before he says, "Still practicing. Guess we can go back to mine."

"You said Bur's holding it?"

Seabs blinks at Jonny. "Huh?"

"The 'practice'. It's at Bur's house, right?"

"Yeah," Seabs says. "His parents are out of town, so I guess there's no one to stop the fun."

Jonny smiles so wide his lower lip feels like it might crack. "Except us."

\--------

There isn't a keg. At least, Jonny can't see a keg. All he can see over Burish's shoulder is a cluster of people in the living room, piled on the couch and sprawled on the floor, flipping through sheaths of paper.

He can see that someone sitting cross-legged on the rug has blond curly hair.

"Hey dickwads," Burish says, "this is private property. Off."

"You're a shit organizer, Bur," Jonny says, crossing his arms. "You only invited half the cast."

"It's called method acting. We're..."

"We're fostering the animosity between feuding clans," Crow calls, and he appears next to Bur, his face lax and lazy and his arms full of snack bowls. "Want a pretzel?"

"The Prince isn't a Montague," Duncs points out.

"I didn't invite him, Sharpy did," Bur says.

Crow shrugs. "I'm neutral. I go wherever I'm needed."

Seabs grabs a handful of pretzels.

" _We're_ neutral," Jonny says. "You're seriously practicing? Still?"

Bur smirks. "You can't rush art, Jonathan."

"Then you shouldn't just practice half the scenes, _Adam_. You should let us read the Capulet lines. Unless you want to be shown up by Shawzer at rehearsal on Monday?"

"Good point," Crows says, and Jonny prays that he's right about this. If he ends up playing Juliet to Sharpy's Romeo, he'll need to reevaluate all the life choices that lead him to this point.

"I hate you guys," Bur grunts, but he moves aside and lets them clomp their way towards the crowd.

Jonny intends to drop down next to Kaner, but when he gets close, he has to stop himself - there's a girl there. A pretty, skinny, laughing girl, the one Kaner'd gone to after his audition, with her elbow linked around Kaner's and her cheek crushed against his shoulder. Empty beer cans are scattered in a wide swath in front of them; Jonny's torn between pride at being correct and shame at believing for even a moment that Bur would hold an actual practice. Kaner's script is open in front of him, though, with lines high-lighted and notes in the margin, and through his giggles, Kaner declares, "That gallant spirit hath aspirated clouds!"

"It's 'aspired'," Sharpy says, but he's laughing too. "We should do this right - quick, someone stab Bur!"

"A scratch!" Bur shouts, and he shoves at Seabs. "You rat-catcher."

"Jon?" Duncs says.

"Not a clue."

"Just checking."

"I still think," the blonde girl next to Kaner says loudly, "that there's no way Romeo is actually a Montague. Look at the hair colors! Me plus Bryan does not equal Sharpy."

"Plus Sharpy's mug is way too ugly," Kaner adds.

"I dunno, Bicks takes care of the ugly part," Bur says. Over at the stereo, Crow snorts and ends up coughing out pretzel bits.

"Still makes more sense than the Capulets," Sharpy says. "There's no way my beautiful Abby came from those parents."

"Hey!" Bicks shouts.

"No offense to your girl," Sharpy says quickly. "Amanda's fine and all. But Soupy? No way did those genetics make Abby."

"That's what pisses you off?" Kaner laughs. "Buttface over there calls you ugly, and that's cool, but you make one remark about the Lady Capulet-"

" _Your_ beautiful Abby?" Jonny says, leveling a disbelieving stare towards Sharpy, and Kaner's girl beams up at Jonny like she's simultaneously never seen him before and has been waiting all night to see him.

"Jonny!" she squeaks. "Here, here, come sit next to Patty."

Kaner hisses, " _Erica_ ," but she's already scooting over and tugging Jonny down into the space between them. As soon as his ass hits the floor, the girl - Erica - snuggles up against his arm so firmly that she presses him into Kaner's side.

"Patty's told me so much about you," she coos, quiet enough that the rest of the room can't hear it. Kaner still goes red.

"I..." Jonny starts. "Really?"

"I need another fucking drink," Kaner grumbles, shoving himself to his feet, and Erica calls, "Bring some for me and Jonny too!" drawing the o in Jonny's name out in a teasing lilt, and Jonny. Well.

Jonny needs a drink too.

Erica leans on him a little firmer and draws her knees up to hug them against her chest. "So, Patty told me you joined up because of Sharpy."

"Something like that," Jonny grumbles.

"So are you and him..."

"What?"

"You know. An item?"

"No," Jonny sputters. "Oh my god, _no_." Erica giggles, and Jonny feels justified in elbowing her lightly. "Haven't you heard him talk about Abby?"

She nods, but she's still giggling. "I know, I know. You looked so serious, though. I had to make sure you were human."

Someone stumbles to a halt beside them, and Jonny looks up to find Kaner scowling down at Erica.

"Oh, quit it, Patty," she sighs, levering herself up to her feet using Jonny's shoulder for support. "I was just getting him all warmed up for you," she adds, and she snags an unopened can of beer from the crook of his elbow before she breezes away.

Kaner flops down next to him, wordlessly holds out a can, and sucks in his lower lip.

Cautiously, Jonny takes the can from Kaner's lax fingers and says, "She's... interesting."

"Don't start with that shit," Kaner groans. "It's bad enough that Bur won't stop eye-molesting her."

"No, I don't... I wouldn't."

Kaner looks at him, skeptical and tired, and Jonny repeats, "I wouldn't." As Kaner takes a heavy slug of his drink, Jonny continues, "We're friends, right? I'd never go for a friend's girl."

At that, Kaner coughs, spraying the side of Jonny's face with cheap beer.

"What the fuck, Kaner?!"

"What did you just say?!" Kaner demands, his lips and chin sopping, shiny with liquid, and Jonny forces his eyes to rise up to Kaner's hairline and stay fixed there as he says, "We're friends?"

"Not that," Kaner gasps, high and whining. "The... _my girl_?!"

"Yeah, uh, Erica, right?" Jonny swallows. "You guys seems really happy. I wouldn't try to mess that up."

And suddenly Kaner looks actually, _literally_ green, and he drops his beer and buries his face in his hands and groans.

"Are you okay? Should I, um, should I go get someone or something?" Kaner doesn't answer, but when Jonny starts to stand, Kaner's hand closes around his wrist and tugs him back down.

"shsmstr," Kaner mutters into his left palm. Jonny twists in Kaner's grip to push their hands together, squeezes Kaner's right with his left, and Kaner lifts up his head and says, stricken, "She's my _sister_."

Jonny's mouth drops open - he can feel it, but he can't seem to stop it. "I. But. Isn't your little sister named Jackie?"

Kaner nods. "Yeah, I have three: Jackie, Jess, and Erica."

"So you're. You're not." Jonny huffs. "Are you single?"

"Dude. We _just_ moved here."

Jonny stares at him, willing his heart to slow down, but Kaner smiles at him, almost shy, and Jonny can feel his pulse in his throat. "Yes, you moron," Kaner chuckles. "I'm single."

Their hands are still tangled, Jonny realizes, and the touch isn't electric or hot or anything he might've expected. It's barely there at all, like their temperatures are matched, like the textures of their skin fit together like puzzle pieces. "Me too," Jonny says.

"I'd fucking hope so," Kaner laughs, and Jonny laughs too, dropping his forehead against the sweat-damp fabric over Kaner's shoulder. They stay like that for a breath, for two, then Kaner groans. "Fuck. Bur's hitting on her again."

"Erica?"

" _My sister_ Erica." Kaner's exhale stutters with mirth, but then he goes still under Jonny's head. "I gotta go do something about that."

"Let me," Jonny says. Kaner jostles him up and leans back to meet Jonny's eyes. Whatever he sees there must pass inspection, because he nods grimly and says, "Yeah. You got it."

It's not until he stands up that Jonny actually catches sight of Bur and Erica. They're near the kitchen, in a huddle with Sharpy and Bicks, and suddenly it all makes sense. Sharpy's in love with Abby, Bicks is dating Amanda, and Kaner's related to Erica. He remembers the glaring contest in the doorway earlier, and the fact that Bur didn't invite Crow (who, like Burish, isn't seeing anyone at the moment), and yeah. Yeah, Kaner has every right to keep an eye on Bur.

"Erica!" Jonny shouts, doing his best to sound drunker than he is. "Erica, beautiful, what are you doing with these idiots?"

"Jonny!" she shouts back, and she topples into his chest, hugging him tightly. "What are _you_ doing away from my brother?"

She grins up at him, all teeth and fire, and fuck. Okay. Plan B.

"I was just thinking," he says, "why is it only half the cast?"

"Because we're fostering-" Bur starts, and Jonny cuts him off.

"Yeah, but it's a party now! Everyone should be here. Especially..." He hugs Erica close to him, swaying in Sharpy's direction. "Especially Abby."

"She _should_ be here," Sharpy says. "I'm gonna call her. I'm gonna... Bicks, get Shawzer down here too. Tell him to pass it along - a party for both our houses!"

Bur frowns, and Jonny just smiles bright. "Oh yeah, Erica, I think your brother wants to talk to you," he says, and he hauls her along without waiting for an answer.

"I'm a big girl, you know," she hisses. "I can handle myself."

Jonny doesn't answer and she sighs, "If I'd known I was adopting another brother, I wouldn't have let you sit next to him."

"Mission accomplished," Jonny says as they draw close to Kaner, and Kaner hands him a beer, already open, with a smile.

It doesn't take long after that for the party to start in earnest - once Abby and Amanda show up, Jonny lets himself relax and crack open another can. He's not even sure when Shaw arrives - at some point he catches a glimpse of him standing on the coffee table, waving his arms along to some acid house track as if he was conducting the bass line, and Kaner's standing in front of him, yelling something unintelligible, one arm over Soupy's shoulders and the other over Kruger's. Jonny tries to join Crow and Bolland's conversation in the corner, but they're talking over the logistics of creating a zombie-proof arcade and, even drunk, Jonny doesn't think he wants to be part of that. It's a swirl of pounding music and astringent beer and hands clapping between shoulder blades until Jonny finds an empty bedroom.

Then he takes in the flowered bedspread, realizes it's _Nikki_ Burish's bedroom, and wanders again until he finds Adam's.

He drops to the ground, back against a night stand, legs stretched out in front of him, and stretches. His right sock has a worn spot over the big toe that's just starting to fray. The door creaks open and he doesn't look up.

"Jonny?" There's a click, the sound of the party going dull once more, and then Kaner's kneeling next to him. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just." Jonny shakes his head. "Just wanted to catch my breath."

"Gotcha," Kaner says, and he goes silent. Jonny shuts his eyes. There's a shuffling next to him, and he hears the rasp of Kaner's breathing swing louder and quieter, swaying with his proximity, and then there's a shoulder ghosting against his and the slight pressure of fingertips along the length of his thumb.

"Abby's here," Kaner says.

Jonny exhales. "Of course she is. She'd do anything for Sharpy."

"Tell him that."

"I have."

"Well, he doesn't believe it." Jonny snorts, and Kaner's fingers dig down. "I mean it," Kaner says. "He's been having a rough time. Like, you know the death scene? He kisses her, and she kisses him, but the other one has to play dead both times. He was like, 'What if she thinks I don't want to kiss her? What if she thinks I always kiss like a dead guy?'"

Jonny peers at Kaner sideways, narrow. "He told you all this?"

"Yeah, we've... I don't know, we've _bonded_ or something." Kaner shrugs. "He invited me over for video games, and he let my sisters come too, and we've been hanging out after rehearsal a lot since. He's just... he's cool?"

Jonny snickers, and Kaner starts to pull his hand away, but Jonny flips his palm-up and clasps tight. "I get it. Sharpy's a charmer." Jonny pauses, then adds, "He's not cool, though. He's awful."

Kaner says, "Don't worry, Jonny. I like you best."

Kaner's hand is taut and dry between his fingers, clammy wet against his palm, and Jonny swallows. "He let your sisters come too?"

"Mom and Dad are working long hours right now, getting everything at the dealership set up," Kaner says. "It won't be like this once school starts, but for now, I'm kind of keeping an eye on them."

"You could come over to mine," Jonny says before he can stop himself. "All of you. I mean, if you get sick of Sharpy."

Kaner smiles. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I'd... uh... it'd be fun, I think."

"I'd like that," Kaner says, leaning closer, until his eyelashes blur with the pale sweep of his eyes, and then there's a knock on the door.

"Patty? Patty, are you in there?"

Sighing, Kaner drops his chin to his chest and draws his hand back. "Yeah, I'm here."

The door slots open, and Jonny says, "Hi, Erica," before she can even peek in.

"Oh! I." She bites her lower lip. "I don't want to interrupt or anything, but Abby's taking Sharpy home now."

Kaner sighs again, and when Jonny looks at him, he lets out a long exhale, air puffing out his cheeks, and says, "We're crashing at Sharpy's tonight. We were all just gonna walk, but if he's getting a ride-"

"It's cool," Jonny makes himself say. "I understand. See you on Monday?"

"Definitely," Kaner says.

\--------

On Monday, Jonny doesn't see Kaner.

"What the fuck?" he rasps under his breath when lunch break's come and gone and there's still no sign of the idiot.

Seabs peers at him. "Something wrong?"

"Nothing," Jonny says, and he thinks it's pretty convincing, but ten minutes later, he looks up from where he's gluing shards of broken CD to a wooden tree silhouette to find Edzo and Fols are standing over him.

"So," Fols says brightly, "Seabrook tells us you're interested in working backstage?"

Jonny blinks. "I-"

"It's fine by me, if that's what you're worried about," Edzo cuts in. "You've done a lot of good work, but Keith and Seabrook can handle the sets from here."

"Sure," Jonny says. "Yeah, that sounds," like a lot more work, "interesting."

"We could really use a stage manager," Fols says. "Someone to keep tabs on the rest of the team, call out orders via walkie-talkie, cue curtains, that sort of thing. If you're up for it, of course."

For the first time, something about this camp that's unrelated to Kaner makes Jonny smile. "I'm in."

Fols takes half an hour to show him around, point out where the key equipment is, introduce him to the heads of lighting and sound (Hossa and Oduya, respectively, and Jonny's still not sure how half his hockey team ended up roped into this camp, but he's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth), and then Jonny's on his own, headset and mike firm on his head and a Savy-annotated script in his hand.

He sits down on a stool at the dimly lit podium that's now his "center of command". There's a messy binder - the prompt book, Fols had called it, just before he told Jonny not to worry about it until he'd gotten into the swing of things - splayed open and post-it notes taped down across the podium's surface, quick descriptions of what various terms mean and lists of what props are needed for each scene, scribbled out and rewritten dozens of times over. Jonny picks at one ancient-looking note just to see the dark and luminous wood, shielded from wear, underneath.

There's a tap on his shoulder, and he turns to see blue eyes.

"Jonny!" Kaner laughs, slugging him the arm and letting the touch linger. "What are you doing here, man? Shouldn't you be staple-gunning things together or something?"

Jonny taps at his headset. "I'm the stage manager now."

"So you work backstage?"

Jonny nods.

"Sweet!" Kaner socks him again, and again, a quick flurry of light jabs against his biceps until Jonny is laughing too, slapping his hands away and swiping in to push him away by the forehead. Kaner yelps and knocks Jonny's hand off his face, but he never stops smiling. "This is so sweet," Kaner says. "Now we can hang out all the time."

"Yeah, what happened there?" Jonny says, and he crosses his arms and taps his foot hard enough to be audible. "You were a no-show this morning."

Kaner rubs at the back of his neck - Jonny watches messy curls fall against the pink skin of his nape with every stroke. "Turns out we're on Act III this week. Which I'm in."

Jonny scoffs. "Glad I'm not relying on you for any tech stuff."

"Fuck off, you mouth-breather," Kaner says. "I'm super reliable."

"I'm sure."

"I am!"

"I believe you."

"I'm here, aren't I? And even though-" Kaner snaps his mouth shut, swallows, presses his lips together. Jonny just waits, and finally, Kaner continues, "Even though I really wanted to go the workroom, and we're going backwards through the scenes, so they probably won't even _need_ me today, Savy called my name as an 'active player'." Kaner screws his mouth to the side, and Jonny wishes he could look away. He doesn't. "So I stayed here," Kaner finishes.

Jonny opens and closes his mouth a few times before he says, "I said I believed you."

"Yeah, well," Kaner says, "you didn't really."

"I do now."

"Good."

\--------

Kaner's lurking; out of the corner of his eye, Jonny can see him leaning in from the wings, pacing loops by the prop tables, inspecting the fake swords... It's distracting.

"You could cue each flash," Hossa says, "or we could figure out a lighting program that syncs with the soundtrack."

Kaner pops open a vial labeled with skull and crossbones and sniffs. Jonny says, "Sounds good."

"Which one?"

"Huh?"

Hossa sighs. "I'll get the track from Johnny. _Other_ Johnny. You..." He waves his hand towards Kaner. "You deal."

"Thanks, Hoss," Jonny says, and he waits until Hossa's out past the wings, hustling down the side steps into the auditorium, to stalk over to Kaner.

"Hi," Kaner says.

"You have terrible survival instincts."

Kaner waggles the vial at him. "It's a prop."

"Your point?"

"One, it's harmless. Two, real poison probably wouldn't be this obvious." Kaner pauses. "Three, you're helping me run my lines."

"No."

"Yeah."

"I," Jonny says, and he slips his headset up from around his neck to nestle over his ears, "am not an actor."

"Good thing I don't need you to act."

"No."

"Jonny."

"Patrick."

"Please?" Kaner cants forward and tilts his face up to blink at Jonny. In the fluttering light that filters in from the stage, his eyes look unnaturally pale. "Just read the lines, okay? I want to see how well I've memorized them."

Jonny scrubs a hand over his face. The motion knocks his mike askew. "One scene."

"That's all I need."

"Give me your script."

Kaner presses the script he's holding into Jonny's chest and grins up at him. "You're the best, Jonny."

"Let's just get this over with."

"Okay, okay," Kaner says quickly, then he bows his head and clears his throat. "I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire: the day is hot, the Capulets abroad, and, if we meet, we shall not scape a brawl; for now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring."

Kaner watches him expectantly. Jonny sighs. "What scene is this, Kaner?"

"Oh. Act 3, Scene 1." Jonny starts flipping through pages, and Kaner repeats, "For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring."

Jonny turns the pages more slowly.

"Mad. Blood. Stirring."

"Fine, fine," Jonny mutters. "Thou art like one of those fellows that when he enters the confines of a tavern claps me his sword... do I really have to do this?"

Kaner nose wrinkles up in aggravation, and Jonny knows he's lost the battle even before Kaner says, "You don't _have_ to. I could probably find someone else to read with me."

Jonny shakes his head and starts the line over.

From there, it goes smoothly until Tybalt enters the scene, and Jonny looks up at Kaner.

"What?"

"Are you... am I reading everyone who's not Benvolio?"

"Well, yeah," Kaner says. "I don't have anyone else's lines memorized, and I can't look at the script. That'd defeat the whole purpose."

"Right," Jonny sighs. "Fine. Make me be both Burish _and_ Shaw. That's not insulting at all."

Kaner raises his eyebrows. "Are you conceding defeat?"

Jonny keeps reading. He even keeps reading after Romeo enters the scene as well, though he glares at Kaner through every line. "Boy, this shall not excuse..." Jonny trails off and glances at the next page. "Kaner, there's about million lines here before you say anything again."

"I need to make sure I know the rhythm!"

"I am hurt," Jonny snaps, pointedly turning to the next page, and Kaner frowns and fidgets, but Jonny continues. "A plague o' both your houses. I am sped. Is he gone, and hath nothing?"

Kaner whines, "What, art thou hurt?"

"Ay, ay, a scratch," Jonny says, then he reels his pointer finger in a loop as he scans down the page until he spots Benvolio's name in the margin again. "Tybalt, that an hour hath been my kinsman. O sweet Juliet, thy beauty hath made me effeminate and in my temper soften'd valour's steel."

"O Romeo, Romeo," Kaner starts, and he quickly dissolves into giggling. "Your face," Kaner snorts. "You look so pissed off. You're the worst Romeo ever."

Jonny whacks Kaner with the script. "Pretty sure that's not your line."

"O Romeo!" Kaner howls, and Jonny throws the script aside in favor of shoving and slapping at any part of Kaner he can reach. Practice can wait.

\--------

Jonny doesn't have a car. His family does well enough, but when his dad asked him last year whether he'd rather have a car or a set of professional-grade hockey equipment for his birthday, the choice was easy. Duncs has a car, anyway, and so does Sharpy, and it's not like he can't borrow his mom's car if he really needs to do something on his own. Plus, carpooling's cheaper and better for the environment. He's not ashamed to hitch rides with his friends.

He's never been ashamed. Not until he tumbles out of the backseat of Duncs's clunker to find Kaner watching them, arms crossed and a disgusted pinch to his features.

"Tell me you drive that ironically," Kaner says.

"We drive your mom ironically," Seabs shouts from the passenger side.

"I don't," Duncs hums. "I drive her earnestly."

"Oh my fucking god," Kaner groans. "You guys are almost as awful as that junk heap!"

Jonny shrugs. "It runs."

Kaner's mouth actually drops open, his eyes drooping sadly. "Really? I mean, I can see it with those two, but I expected better from you."

"Sorry?"

"Tell me your car isn't like this one."

Duncs and Seabs are far ahead of them at this point, fiddling with their overstuffed keyrings, so Jonny lets himself fall into step with Kaner and lean until their shoulders touch. "I'll let you know once it exists."

"Oh." Then it's like a light flicks on inside Kaner's skull, illuminating his eyes and making his smile gleam. "Oh! Let me hook you up, man. I'll make sure you get a good deal."

Jonny huffs. "You really have that much pull with Mr... uh... the dealership guy?"

"Considering the dealership guy is my dad, yeah."

"Friends with," Jonny says, and when Kaner looks at him oddly, he clarifies, "Your dad is friends with the dealership guy. That's what you said before."

"Oh, yeah," Kaner says, "but he wants to retire, so my dad's buying the place."

"Huh. That's... good timing?"

Kaner rolls his eyes. "It's why we moved, dipshit."

And that makes sense - a lot more sense than Kaner's family choosing to move and then stumbling into a great new job. It makes so much more sense that Jonny hopes he's not red-faced as he pushes through the theater doors.

\--------

"Jon-iet! O, Jon-iet!" Kaner calls, and Jonny snaps, "Don't," before he turns to face him.

"Sorry," Kaner says, head ducked and voice completely unapologetic. "You too busy to run lines with me?"

The prompt book in front of him is rapidly growing day-to-day, post-it flags jutting out at awkward angles and still untagged pages dogeared. There's an uncapped highlighter on the podium next to it.

"Nope," Jonny says, shutting the binder, "but only if you never call me that again."

"What, Jon-iet?" Kaner grins. "You don't like it?"

"You know I don't, you fucker."

"Why not? It's flattering! I mean, if you don't think about the plot too hard, being called Juliet is a good thing."

Jonny quirks an eyebrow. "Not thinking - that's something you're good at."

"C'mon. Don't be so cold, Jon-iet."

"Never, _Pat-eo_."

Kaner shudders. "Ugh. Okay. Truce?"

"Truce." Jonny takes the script from Kaner, thumbing through the pages until he hits where they last left off. He says, "I reserve the right to call you Patty, though."

"No," Kaner coughs. "No, no way. Only my sisters can do that, and that's only because if I killed them, Mom and Dad would be upset."

"That's stupid," Jonny says. "You should own your nickname, Patty."

Kaner's glare is so focused that Jonny can almost feel his skin sizzle. "I _do_. I totally own _Kaner_."

Jonny scoffs. "What sort of nickname is that, anyway? That's a typo, not a nickname."

"Fuck you! It's a hockey thing, jackass - you're obviously not cool enough to get it."

Jonny freezes, his chirps withering on his suddenly dry tongue. "What?"

Kaner smirks. "You're Canadian; you've gotta know what hockey is. Even you're not that dumb."

"You. Uh." Jonny fumbles the script, barely manages to snag it between numb fingertips. "You play hockey?"

Kaner's smirk grows deeper, more lopsided, and Jonny's eyes catch on the curve. "I _own_ hockey."

"Fuck you, you do not."

"Fuck you, I do!"

Jonny looks Kaner up and down like he's done more times than is rational before, but this time he notes the thickness of Kaner's wrists and forearms, the firm set of his shoulders, the sway of his ass, the scuffed toes of his shoes (like he glides more than he steps), and he remembers every time he's seen Kaner on his own backstage, throwing a tennis ball up and up and snatching it out of the air one-handed like it's nothing. Like it's second nature.

On stage, Bolland flatly intones, "A pack of blessings lights up upon thy back; happiness courts thee in her best array."

Jonny swallows. "Wing?"

Kaner's mouth softens, evens out. "Yeah, right wing. Let me guess - you play center?" At Jonny's nod, he adds, "I bet you're Captain too, huh?"

"No," Jonny says, and he swallows again; he can't seem to get his throat wet. "Not yet, at least. Seabs says I'm a lock for the C this year, but he's full of shit, so I don't know."

"No way," Kaner says. "I bet you'll get the C. I bet you'll be a great captain, too." He bites his lower lip. "Shame I'll have to kick your ass on the ice."

"You'll have to _try_."

Kaner scoffs. "McLaughlin's the best team in the division five years running now, Jonny. I think we'll do fine."

And then Jonny has to stop talking entirely, just for a moment, just long enough to make sure he heard that correctly. "You're going to McLaughlin?"

"Fuck yeah, man. Go Hawks."

"But the dealership," Jonny says, slow and careful. "It's only a couple blocks away from Norris."

Kaner goes red at that, and it's almost like he shrinks. Like, for the first time Jonny's ever seen, he might actually be embarrassed. "We were looking at the stats, and the Griffins..."

Jonny smiles. "They suck."

"Yeah," Kaner breathes. "They _really_ fucking suck. So Dad made sure we got a house in McLaughlin's zone instead, so I could." He huffs out a low noise. "So I could play with the best."

"Well," Jonny says, "I _am_ the best."

Kaner's face burns vivid, pink and hot, and his eyes and smile go wide. "Seriously? You go to McLaughlin?"

Jonny shrugs one shoulder with faux nonchalance. "I go to McLaughlin."

Suddenly, his arms are coasting up over broad shoulders and there's pressure down the length of his chest and stomach. Jonny freezes. "Sorry," Kaner says quietly, slowly edging back out of the hug. "That's just... I've been so fucking stressed over what my new team would be like, and this is the best news. The _best_."

Jonny lets his weight drop, pulls Kaner in close, and hugs him for real.

\--------

David and Nemo are sprawled on the sidewalk, chatting away like they've been doing for the past ten minutes, when Jonny peeks outside again.

"Mon cher," his mom says, "why don't you come help me find your old skates?"

Jonny peers at her. "You're trying to distract me."

"A little," she says, "but I'm also trying to help. What if your Patrick doesn't know to bring rollerblades?"

"He's not... he's..." Jonny chokes on his own spit. " _Mom_."

"Come. Help me look."

The front closet is a tangle of sports equipment, winter clothes, and more gear bags than even Jonny could ever find use for, and his mom leaves the search to him alone after a minute. Rooting around in the mess is actually a decent distraction. It doesn't keep the back of his neck from prickling every time he hears a noise outside, but it does give him something to do other than pace the entryway and glare out the front window. He's elbow-deep in a duffel bag that smells alarmingly like sauerkraut when he hears the door open and Sharpy shout, "Yoohoo! El Capitan! You home?"

"What do you want, Sharpy?" Jonny shouts without slowing his motions.

"And there you go," Sharpy says, then the door slams shut, and Jonny says, "Sharpy?"

"Nah, just me."

Jonny flings the duffel bag away from him and scrambles back on all fours, tumbling to his feet and clinging to the closet door to steady himself. He huffs out a heavy breath and looks around the door.

Kaner smiles; it doesn't completely hide the nervous work of his jaw. "Sorry to disappoint."

"Like I'd rather see Sharpy."

"Good to know," Kaner says. He leans to look around Jonny and into the closet. "What're you doing?"

"Trying to find skates."

"You don't know where your skates are?"

"No, uh, mine are..." Jonny flicks his hand towards the entryway; his rollerblades sit, sleek and shiny black, proud against the matte wallpaper. "I didn't know if you had a pair of blades, so..."

"Yeah, I do. They're outside," Kaner says, and he seems distracted. He's fidgeting, like he did during his audition, and his eyes are flicking from point to point without any apparent goal.

Jonny's suddenly aware that his gaze hasn't left Kaner's face since it settled there when he first saw him.

"Duncs and Seabs here?" Jonny asks, and when Kaner nods, he says, "Okay. Let's gear up."

It's easy to lose track of Kaner in the rhythm of game prep. It might be a street hockey scrimmage with friends, but it's still hockey, and that means Jonny's focus goes razor sharp. He automatically states, "I'm Captain," as he finishes tugging the straps on his skates just so. "Who's heading up Team B?"

Bur sputters. "Who says you get Team A?"

"I always get Team A," Jonny says, and it's true, but it's more than habit today. So long as he picks first, he can get Kaner on his team, and so long as he can see how playing with Kaner feels, he can figure out where he fits in the Hawks' line-up. Assuming he makes the Hawks' line-up, of course.

He really hopes he does.

"I'll take Team B," Kaner calls. He stretches his legs straight out in front of him on the concrete, tips his feet side to side, and grins, and Jonny can't remember why he likes the idiot.

Jonny coughs. "Anyone else?"

Sharpy falls against Kaner's side, laughing raucously, and Kaner frowns. "Fuck you! I want to captain Team B!"

"You've never even played with any of us, Kaner. You have no idea what sort of players you'll be picking."

"What do you care?" Kaner says.

"I want a fair game."

"Yeah?" Kaner rolls up to his feet. "Is that it, or are you just afraid my team will kick your team's ass?"

Jonny grits his teeth. "You pick first."

Team selection goes quickly. Jonny knows exactly who to pick and Kaner doesn't have a fucking clue, so neither one of them takes much time to deliberate both picking players. In the end, Jonny finds himself staring down Sharpy at the face-off, Kaner grinning at him from a few feet to Jonny's left.

He loses. Sharpy flicks the puck to Kaner and they shoot off towards Nemo. Jonny barely has time to register what's happening before Kaner's deked past Duncs, snapped the puck just wide, and slammed into Seabs, sending him flailing to the ground. From flat on his back, Kaner yells, "Did it go in?"

"You wish," Nemo laughs, and Kaner moans as he flops to all fours, then back upright.

"Next time," Kaner says, pointing his stick at Nemo. "I'll figure you out. Just you wait."

"You didn't even hit the net, Kaner," Jonny shouts, and Seabs shoulder-checks him as they circle back in for another face-off.

The problem with playing against Kaner isn't that he's good; it's that he's good in ways that Jonny isn't. He's tied with Shawzer for shortest guy in the group, but he's quick and his hands are soft as silk. Jonny prides himself on seeing exactly where the puck needs to go, but Kaner seems like he's seeing where the puck could go five moves from now and playing for that. It's amazing when it works and absolutely infuriating when it doesn't, and when Kaner drops a risky pass back to Hjalmarsson instead of taking the shot through limited traffic in front of him, Jonny hip checks him and says, "Too fancy."

"Your mom didn't think I was too fancy last night," Kaner hollers after him, then winces and looks towards the house guilty.

Duncs skates backwards past Jonny and mutters, "You know you're not supposed to help the other team, right?"

"I know," Jonny says, but Duncs is already coasting away from him. Besides, Duncs is wrong. Kaner's going to McLaughlin. He's going to try out for the Hawks, and if he plays even half as well on ice as he is right now (and he will, because Jonny can see all the little tricks, the jukes, the small movements that amount to almost nothing on asphalt, but will rip through the opposing defense in an actual game), he'll be a Hawk.

He's on Jonny's team.

Jonny claims Team A again for the next scrimmage, and Kaner smirks and says he wants Team B again. The next round, Jonny claims Team A, but Kaner decides to sit out and let some other guys play, and the one after that, Jonny tries to sit out, but as soon as his ass hits the neatly mowed grass of his yard, Kaner hops up and says he's ready to go again. It's not until the fifth scrimmage, the one after a long water break and where Saad and Bollig are playing goalie because Nemo and Crow need a rest, that Jonny manages to pull Kaner onto his team.

It's worth the wait.

"You're cheating," Shaw gasps, doubled over and hands on his knees.

"Yeah," Sharpy adds between pants, "you're definitely cheating."

Kaner's got one arm over Jonny's shoulders, the other vibrating as he bumps his fist against Jonny's over and over, and Jonny closes his other hand in the fabric over Kaner's spine and holds on. "How the fuck are we cheating?" Kaner laughs. "You can't cheat your way into skill like this, baby!"

"You, you fucking _planned_ that play out or something," Bur says. "That's the only way that pass could have worked."

"That pass worked," Jonny says, "because Kaner's alert enough to know where his teammates are at all times."

Versteeg rolls his eyes. "Jesus Christ. Jonny finally found someone who lives hockey like he does. We're doomed."

He could argue with that, but Jonny's still riding the high of a play clicking like it was programmed, of him scoring off a beauty of a pass, and he doesn't feel like coming down. Instead, he tugs at the back of Kaner's shirt, jostling him from side to side, and when Kaner looks up at him, Jonny matches his smile watt for watt.

Jonny doesn't let Kaner off his wing after that. He has guys he meshes well with on the ice, and guys he can count on in different situations, and guys he just likes playing with. He's never had a guy that feels like this, though. Kaner's like a part of him; actually, he's more like his counterpart. They work like gears with matched teeth, pushing against each other to make the machine run. He'd think his off-skates affection is bleeding through to make Kaner seem better than he is, but judging from the looks they're getting (Duncs keeps grinning every time they touch the puck, Sharpy's face is going unattractively red and blotchy, and Seabs is watching as if they're a Magic Eye picture, something that will resolve into clarity if he stares enough), it's not just him.

They get two scrimmages on the same team before it starts getting dark. Most of the guys say their goodbyes and bail. A few head inside when Jonny's mom lets them know that Star Wars is on TV and pizza's on its way. Like usual, Jonny stays outside to take some more shots on net.

Unlike usual, he's not alone.

"Crossbar," Kaner says, and he zips the puck into the net top-shelf, an inch below the crossbar.

"Sucks to be you," Jonny says. He skates a loose circle, then takes his shot. It hits the netting dead center.

"Sucks to be you," Kaner says in a low, dopey monotone.

"I don't sound like that."

"I don't sound like that," Kaner parrots. "Also, I make every shot every time and I have no sense of humor."

"You missed the crossbar too, moron."

Kaner skids to a stop right in front of him. "I was closer."

"So?"

"So," Kaner says, and his smirk is somehow _filthy_ , "that means I win."

Sharpy says shit like that to him all the time. Bur too, and Shaw, and Bollig, and pretty much anyone who wants to get under his skin, but this feels different. The heat bubbling up in his chest is less fire and more ember. He doesn't feel like socking Kaner or calling him names; he'd rather push his thumb into the dimple in Kaner's cheek and see if the curves match the way he imagines they will. He wants to tackle Kaner and see if the skin on his belly will go as pink as his face. He wants to do wind sprints, just to have a reason for being so breathless. He wants to figure out why he feels this way, and he wants to never, ever, ever stop.

Jonny crunches his face up, grabs Kaner by the forearms, and kisses him.

For a moment, nothing happens. Kaner's tense under his hands and his lips, their only point of contact, and every other inch of Jonny is shock cold. Then Kaner topples over, and Jonny's never been the steadiest on his skates, so he topples with him.

They land with Kaner on his ass and Jonny on his knees, half on top of him hovering over Kaner's bent legs, but when Jonny tries to crawl backwards, Kaner wraps both hands around the back of his head and reels him in for another kiss. Jonny notices distantly that there's a pebble digging into his right knee. He doesn't care. Kaner's fingers are alive in his hair, clutching and rubbing, and the glide of his mouth is so smooth and warm that it's mesmerizing. "Pat," Jonny sighs against him, and Kaner holds him tighter and tips back.

Jonny has to brace with both hands right after they shift, holding himself up on all fours over Kaner, but once he regains his balance, he lifts one hand to sweep over Kaner's cheek. His palm is rough with dirt and callus, and Kaner's skin is sweat-sticky. Somehow, it still feels better than a new jersey, better than towels out of the dryer, right on par with sinking a penalty shot five-hole.

Kaner squirms beneath him.

"Sorry," Jonny says, trying not to sound completely and utterly breathless. "Do you wanna-"

"I don't wanna stop," Kaner says, and then he shoving Jonny back so he can reach his rollerblades, fumbling the straps open and dragging out his sock-clad feet. He's already jogging as he gets to his feet. Jonny watches him go.

Kaner stops just around the side of the house, where the shade obscures him and there aren't any windows. "C'mon, Jonny," he calls. "Get with the program."

Jonny can't get his skates off fast enough.

The grass is wet enough to seep through his socks and make his toes icy numb, but he can still feel them curl when he crowds Kaner up against the house, kissing him again and again. Kaner's giddy, giggling and fidgety, grabbing at Jonny's jaw, his shoulders, his ribs. He nips Jonny's lower lip as his hands sweep over Jonny's hips.

"Kaner, you?" Jonny says. He doesn't know exactly what he's asking, but Kaner must get it anyway, because he's nodding and saying, "Yeah, Jonny, yeah," and it only feels right for Jonny to say, "Me too," before their mouths crash together again.

\--------

Jonny lets Duncs know that he's going to start riding with Kaner to camp.

\--------

Halfway through Sunday, Jonny realizes that he's in trouble. They've been texting almost non-stop since Kaner left the night before, both of them unable to stop smiling even in the face of Sharpy's persistent questions, and it's not until Kaner says he's got to go help Jackie with her summer math packet that Jonny remembers.

Erica isn't Kaner's only sister. He's got three of them. And they all go to theater camp.

David catches Jonny standing in front of the bathroom mirror Monday morning, tugging at the hem of his nice black button-up. It takes both him and their mom to talk Jonny out of it.

He still makes sure to wear his least faded pair of jeans.

When Jonny gets to Kaner's car (which is less of a car and more of a landboat - frankly, it looks ridiculous), Erica's in the passenger seat, blithely ignoring the burn of Kaner's glare and whatever acid he's hissing at her. Jonny opens the door behind her, and she turns around to smile at him, all sugar and innocence.

"Good morning, Jonny," Erica sings.

"Morning," he says, and the girl nearest his door slides over into the middle seat and waves at him.

"Hi Jonny," she says. "I'm Jackie."

"And I'm Jessica," the girl on her other side says, leaning forward enough to give him a quick once over. Her smile when she's finished seems genuine.

Jonny scratches at his hairline. "Nice to meet you. I guess I'll just... sit here?"

"Don't be weird," Jackie chirps, and as soon as he starts to climb in, she wraps both her hands around his wrist and hauls him the rest of the way.

"How old are you?" Jonny asks as he buckles his seatbelt.

Kaner shifts into reverse, and Jackie says, "Eleven."

"Pretty strong for eleven," he says.

It seems to be the right answer; she starts drumming her fists on his knee and cackling. "Damn straight!"

"Language," Erica and Kaner say in unison. Jess, for her part, jolts to the side and squishes Jackie between herself and Jonny.

"Like you guys don't all say worse," Jackie grumbles, and Jonny nods. He leans in to whisper conspiratorially, "Your brother swears more than anyone I've ever met."

"Right?" she whispers back. "He said the f-word in front of Mom the other day. In front of Mom!"

"He's terrible," Jonny agrees.

Kaner taps the brakes just enough to startle them both and send Jonny grasping for the over-door handle.

"Yep," Jackie declares, popping the p so loud that it echoes. "Patty's the worst."

\--------

Riding with Kaner and his sisters turns out to be surprisingly fun. David's only a couple years younger than him, so it's been a while since he's gotten to chat with a pre-middle school kid, before the sarcasm and pride have sunk in too deep. Unfortunately, it's also been a while since he's had to deal with the repercussions of a less-than-tactful kid. They only make it through a few days of carpooling before Kaner's pulling him aside backstage to deliver the bad news.

Jonny blinks. "They want to meet me?"

"I'm so fucking sorry, man," Kaner blurts. "Jackie wouldn't shut up about you, and my parents started putting things together, and now they want to meet my..."

Jonny waits, but when Kaner doesn't continue, he narrows his eyes at him and asks, "Your?"

Kaner squirms and stays silent.

"Kaner, your what?"

"My boyfriend, okay?" Kaner won't meet his eyes. "They want to have dinner with my boyfriend."

"Okay."

"I know, I know, Sharpy told me you - wait, what?"

"Sharpy told you what?" Jonny demands, but then Kaner's looking at him, and his eyelashes are damp and clumping unevenly, and when Kaner says, "I asked first," Jonny goes with it.

"I said, 'Okay,'" Jonny says. "I, uh, I make no promises about... conversation or anything, but. But okay. I'll come have dinner and meet your parents."

Kaner asks, "Why?" and Jonny knows it's less a question and more a request.

Jonny swallows. "Because we're boyfriends?"

Kaner bites his lip. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Jonny says, but the end gets smothered against Kaner's mouth.

Abruptly, Kaner pulls away, whispers, "Be right back," and disappears, sprinting behind the scrim to the other side of the stage. 

For a minute, Jonny just waits. Kaner doesn't reappear, though, and eventually Jonny gives up and goes back to reviewing his prompt book. The flags are mostly gone at this point, replaced with colored coded highlighting and neatly written notes in the margins of the script. Sound's completely blocked out, lighting just needs a final review. Then, all he'll have left is to run through the list of techs with Duncs and figure who gets called for each scene change. He should probably get time estimates for each set change, too, just so he can figure out how quickly he can trigger the light and sound cues without. He's debating whether the techs would let him time them with a stopwatch when warmth covers his back and a chin drops onto his shoulder.

"Let's go," Kaner says.

Jonny frowns at him and asks, "Go? Go where?" but Kaner's already tucking Jonny's prompt book into his bag and slinging his own backpack over one shoulder.

"The girls are gonna catch a ride home with Abby." Kaner flashes him a grin that's all teeth. "I maybe got Erica to tell Savy I'm sick."

Then Kaner's hand is in his, and their fingers are interlocked, and Kaner's dragging him outside into the noontime sun and over towards his car.

"I'm confused," Jonny says.

Kaner snatches Jonny's bag away and chucks it into the backseat. "I'm sick," Kaner says, ushering Jonny's towards the passenger seat, "and you're the good friend who's going to take me home. To my house. Which is empty because my parents are at work and my sisters are at camp."

Oh. "Oh," Jonny says.

"Yeah, oh," Kaner huffs. "Now are we gonna stand here, or is my _boyfriend_ going to come home with me?"

Jonny hops in and slams the door fast enough that it catches and rips the hem of his jeans. It's a reasonable sacrifice.

\--------

"Hey," Jonny says softly, "you never did tell me - what did Sharpy say about me?"

Kaner looks up from the hickie he's been absently sucking over Jonny's collarbone and blinks at him sleepily. "Hm?"

"The boyfriends thing," Jonny says, squeezing Kaner just a little to head off any awkwardness. "What did Sharpy tell you that made you think I didn't want to date you?"

"He..." Kaner smacks his forehead into Jonny's cheek. "He told me that you're a romantic. Like, in a funny way? He had all these stories about you trying to woo girls."

Jonny grimaces. "Did any of them involve a steakhouse?"

Laughing, Kaner pushes himself up on top of Jonny, and their pants are still on, but the lingering sheen of sweat on his bare chest won't let Jonny forget that he made Kaner come less than five minutes ago. He grips Kaner with one hand on either side of his waist, pinkies tucked up against the band of his boxers, thumbs pushing into the small swell of bulk above his hips. "The one with the vegan?" Kaner snorts. "Oh yeah. And the one about the hair gel, and the scented candles, and the birthstone necklace-"

"That one was a good idea!"

"Maybe," Kaner says, rocking on Jonny's lap ever so slightly. "But you got the wrong birthstone."

Jonny tries to lean up for a kiss, but Kaner pins him down with one hand on either shoulder. Jonny grunts. "What does this have to do with anything?"

"You're an obvious romantic, Jonny," Kaner says, his gaze dropping low and distant. "You try to woo people. But... not me."

There might be a good answer to that, a cheesy and _romantic_ one, but it's never been in Jonny's nature to choose good over honest. "With you," Jonny says clearly, "I don't have to try."

"Oh, real nice, asshole," Kaner snips. "I'm not worth your effort?"

"Being with you doesn't take effort," Jonny says. This time, when he tries to sit up, Kaner lets him, and he catches Kaner's chin between his thumb and his knuckle. "I don't have to try to... to like you; I just do."

He punctuates that with a brush of their lips together, barely there. It's too much of a tease, even for him; Jonny dives back in, peppering Kaner's mouth with sure kisses, and Kaner presses back equally, matches him blow for blow. When they fall back down next to each other, Jonny notes that their fingers fit together like they were carved to join, and their legs can tangle without his knees aching, and every sound that Kaner makes shakes Jonny down to the bone.

Jonny really hopes they manage to get their pants off this time.

\--------

Duncs snaps his head up to stare over Jonny's shoulder with comically wide eyes. "Uh oh."

"What?" Jonny asks.

"You have to hide me," Kaner pleads, and when Jonny twists to look at him, he almost doesn't recognize him. Kaner's face is packed with tan powder, his eyes heavily lined with something dark and shiny, and his mouth is a mess of watermelon pink.

Jonny turns back around and hopes that he's hallucinating.

"What the fuck?" Duncs says.

"Jana's using me as a guinea pig," Kaner whines. "I've had more makeup on my face today than Erica wears in a year."

"Okay," Duncs says, holding his hands up, palms out, as he stands. "I'm out."

Jonny frowns. "The blocking notes..."

"Later." Duncs slaps Kaner on the shoulder. "They replaced the curtain riggings here last year, and the new system doesn't take up as much space. If you go on the other side of the main pull, Jana shouldn't be able to see you from out here."

Kaner says, "You're a good man, Duncs!" and then he's shimmying past the thick rope of the curtain pull and fading into the shadows.

Cross-legged on the floor, Jonny looks between his open prompt book and the space where Kaner is hidden.

"I'm leaving now," Duncs says pointedly.

Jonny manages to wait for the stage door to shut before he skids his prompt book blindly towards the podium, thrashes to his feet, and runs for the curtain pull.

Sharpy's voice filters in from the stage, muffled but strong, as he says, "If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this..."

"They've run this part a dozen times today alone," Jonny mutters.

"It's the kiss," Kaner says.

"Do you think," Jonny starts, breaks off when he catches the oily sheen around Kaner's eyes in the dim light and realizes he can't tell from sight alone where the wetness of Kaner's lip gloss ends and his open mouth begins. Jonny thumbs at the corner of Kaner's mouth. "Do you think Abby will understand?"

Kaner kisses him, and their skin sticks and it tastes like wax, but Jonny still chases him when he draws back. "I think she already does," Kaner says. "I think they're already dating and Sharpy just hasn't realized it yet."

Abby says, "Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake," and Jonny holds Kaner, fingers deep against the cool roots of his hair and palm fitting the curve of his head, and he nuzzles along Kaner's jaw until he can smell the skin beneath pressed powder before he kisses him again.

It's Seabs who eventually finds them. In reality, he seeks them out - the scene's finally moved on to the point where Benvolio will be needed at any moment. Jonny doesn't ask how he knew where they were, or how he knew that they'd need finding. Seabs has been looking out for him long enough that Jonny doesn't question it anymore, just accepts the help he'd never admit he needs.

"You're a mess," Seabs says.

"Hey," Jonny says lowly. "Don't judge what you-"

"I mean your face," Seabs cuts in. He gestures towards the lower half of his face. "You're covered in junk."

Jonny touches his chin, feels the tack of gel smeared there, and he can't help it - he laughs.

Seabs elbows him. "So. You got any plans for Friday night, or are you going to sulk about hockey like usual?"

From the wings, Jonny can watch Kaner in profile. The stage lights soak into the heavy powder on Kaner's brow and shine off his pink-streaked cheeks, and the black around his eyes has spread far enough to make him look like a raccoon.

Jonny smiles. "Nah. I think I've got a date."


End file.
